scribers," he
added, seeing that Lucien followed him. "Finot is my nephew; he is
the only one of my family that has done anything to relieve me in my
position. So when anybody comes to pick a quarrel with Finot, he finds
old Giroudeau, Captain of the Dragoons of the Guard, that set out as a
private in a cavalry regiment in the army of the Sambre-et-Meuse, and
was fencing-master for five years to the First Hussars, army of Italy!
One, two, and the man that had any complaints to make would be turned
off into the dark," he added, making a lunge. "Now writers, my boy, are
in different corps; there is the writer who writes and draws his pay;
there is the writer who writes and gets nothing (a volunteer we call
him); and, lastly, there is the writer who writes nothing, and he is by
no means the stupidest, for he makes no mistakes; he gives himself out
for a literary man, he is on the paper, he treats us to dinners, he
loafs about the theatres, he keeps an actress, he is very well off. What
do you mean to be?"

"The man that does good work and gets good pay."

"You are like the recruits. They all want to be marshals of France. Take
old Giroudeau's word for it, and turn right about, in double-quick time,
and go and pick up nails in the gutter like that good fellow yonder; you
can tell by the look of him that he has been in the army.--Isn't it a
shame that an old soldier who has walked into the jaws of death hundreds
of times should be picking up old iron in the streets of Paris? Ah! God
A'mighty! 'twas a shabby trick to desert the Emperor.--Well, my boy, the
individual you saw this morning has made his forty francs a month. Are
you going to do better? And, according to Finot, he is the cleverest man
on the staff."

"When you enlisted in the Sambre-et-Meuse, did they talk about danger?"

"Rather."

"Very well?"

"Very well. Go and see my nephew Finot, a good fellow, as good a fellow
as you will find, if you can find him, that is, for he is like a fish,
always on the move. In his way of business, there is no writing, you
see, it is setting others to write. That sort like gallivanting about
with actresses better than scribbling on sheets of paper, it seems. Oh!
they are queer customers, they are. Hope I may have the honor of seeing
you again."

With that the cashier raised his formidable loaded cane, one of the
defenders of Germainicus, and walked off, leaving Lucien in the street,
as much bewildered by this picture of the